Walking Dead Fifty Shades of Daryl Dixon

There's two things you automatically know from just glancing at Daryl Dixon. One, he's strong, with broad shoulders and a muscular frame. Two, antisocial, he tends to work alone all the time. Then there are the the things you learn from observing him longer than a few minutes or seconds. His concentration he takes everything seriously. His leader mentality, no one ever disobeys him. And finally, his eyes. The first time I held eye contact with him, I thought my insides were going to go up in flames. They resemble blue fire, and catch you like a deer in headlights. I know what you're thinking, I'm a total creep who watches people from a distance. But I'm not. It just so happens that every time Daryl Dixon decides to do "yard work" I'm assigned to "watch" duty.

I sigh leaning back shivering when strands of my ginger hair tickles my shoulders. I guess you're confused about the "watch" thing too. I'll explain.

Exactly one year ago something in the human body clicked and a fever begin to spread across the country.. Well world really. Some people got the fever some didn't. The ones who did burned out. Then they came back to life as ravenous, flesh-craving-corpses. Yeah, scary I know. I escaped my house with an abundance of ammo, supplies, and my younger sister. And this is where it gets interesting (unless you find death cool. Do you) We stumbled upon a place called Woodbarry, ran by a man who called himself the "governor," I know the cliche name should have been enough to warn me, but it wasn't. The good times lasted for a good five months. My sister and I never had any problems with the "governor" or his men, and usually we kept to ourselves.

But none of it was what it seemed, and now here I am. Tired, sisterless, and stalking some hot guy with a crossbow, who doesn't even know my name.

I huff in frustration pulling my long ginger waves into a messy bun. It's at least eighty degrees and it's only around eleven o'Clock. I swing my legs back and forth over the rock platform or my "nest" as Glenn calls it since I am here the most. I can't help but like it in this spot. No one else is around trying to get me to communicate, or swap war stories. It's just me, my thoughts, and Daryl Dixon. For the next fifteen minutes I hum, keeping my eyes half on the fences and half on Daryl, and the heat continues to climb.

"Hey, Crystal." Glenn grins at me holding a half bottle of water in his hand.

"Hey Glenn!" I take the water happily chugging it and Glenn chuckles taking a seat beside me.

"Are you ready to switch yet, Maggie's offered to take your place." Glenn informs, and I stifle a laugh.

I think he and I both know "watching" isn't on their minds. But without arguing I ruffle Glenn's hair and walk away with my empty bottle. Damn the apocalypse and limited supplies. I cast one last look at Daryl to see he is looking at me too. For the third time since I got here, our eyes lock, and heat flares my insides. I give a small wave and smile before breaking eye contact with him before escaping the heat for the cooler air of my cellblock. I breathe out a sigh of relief when I see there's only three people in at the moment, I can get by without much conversation.

"Hey, Crystal." Patrick, a nerdy kid, greets a smile on his face.

"Hey, Patrick." I mutter in reply slipping into my cell.

"Do you want to take a walk with Carl and I later?" I shake my head frowning at him.

"Sorry Patrick, I can't." He frowns walking away defeated.

I hate pushing people away it sucks, okay? But I can't get close to anyone, that would be emotional suicide on my part. Especially since at any moment everything could just collapse around us. I pull the curtain closed stripping off my sweaty watch clothes and changing into some denim jean shorts, blue button up top, and brown combat boots. I know bad combo, but even before the apocalypse I had no fashion sense. I stuff my buck knife, and my book into my satchel bag before walking back out into the heat.

"Am I needed anywhere?" I ask Carol who stands pumping water into a bucket.

"Uh, no, not that I know of." She answers and I set my bag down helping her pump the last bit of water. "Thanks," she mumbles.

"No problem. I'm off to the fence, you know where to find me." She nods smiling over her shoulder as she walks away.

Once I get to my secluded fence spot I sigh loudly leaning my back comfortably against the cool concrete wall. I found this spot last month, clearly no one comes here, so I've decided to make it my own. I pull out a book I salvaged from a run a couple weeks ago, the front reading "_The Ghost and the Goth_," I roll my eyes opening it up. Cliche name equals awful book right? Wrong. This book is great.

_Whoosh!_

I jump my eyes widening when my eyes fall onto the arrow mere inches from my leg. A few seconds earlier that could have one through my knee. I growl throwing the book down and jerking the arrow from the dirt.

"Are you insane!" I all but yell turning to confront the dumbass who shot the arrow, the fire in my emerald orbs extinguishing the second

they meet ice blue flames.

"You should watch where you sit," Daryl growls at me and I clench my fists yanking the arrow away from his grasp when he reaches for it.

"You should watch where you shoot! There isn't any target practice materials around here." I growl back moving the arrow out of his reach again.

"I'm looking at one now!" He snaps and I roll my eyes twirling the arrow between my fingers.

"Unoriginal comebacks, and bad aim. You're not making a good first impression." He finally gets ahold of the arrow, his fingers enclosing around mine in the process.

"Stay out of my way!" He storms off and I bite my tongue to keep down a snarky, and rude remark. Another thing to know about Daryl Dixon; He's an asshole.

**A/N: Hi! Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed the first chapter, the second will be out soon. :-)**


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Walking Dead, Horror, Romance